


LBD

by ZoS



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Bad Sex, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/F, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: The lesbian curse.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 25
Kudos: 219





	LBD

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a silly, little thing I wanted to get out of my head while writing a longer piece.

Miranda stared at the ceiling. Andy sighed. Silence reigned.

"I didn't yawn," Miranda stated steadfastly from her side of the bed.

Andy's lips puckered. "Yes, you did."

"I think I'd know if I yawned."

"You nearly sucked my face off."

"That's preposterous." Miranda rolled her eyes. "You must have misinterpeted one of my... you know..."

Turning her head, Andy showed her an incredulous, skeptical smile. "Sex faces? I know all you sex faces. _That_ was a yawn."

"Well." Miranda pursed her own lips, returning her gaze to the ceiling. "Even if I did--which I didn't--it had nothing to do with you. I was run ragged this week."

Silence, once again, followed, prompting her to look at Andy, who had a deep, contemplative look on her face. "What's wrong with you?"

"I did some research," Andy murmured, apropos of nothing, her voice thoughtful.

"What research?"

\---

"Wikipedia, Andrea? Really?"

"Shut up," muttered Andy while scrolling down the laptop screen, her vertebrae sticking out below the skin of her hunched, naked back while Miranda reclined against the headboard in a robe. "There."

Rolling her eyes, mostly to emphasize for the umpteenth time how ridiculous she found the whole situation, Miranda slid her glasses on and leaned in. "Lesbian Bed Death," Andy proclaimed. "It's a thing."

"It's not a thing," Miranda scoffed, deep lines creasing her forehead.

"It literally says it right here," Andy insisted, pointing at the screen.

"Well, it's not our thing," Miranda decreed with finality, withdrawing to lean back against the headboard. "For one, I'm not a lesbian."

"Yes, you are," Andy replied dismissively, but paid no further attention to her while her eyes scanned the words before her. "It says here that lesbians in long-term relationships experience a drop-off in sexual activity a few years into the relationship. That they become more like companions than intimate partners."

"You can say that about any couple," Miranda argued. "And weren't we _just_ having sex? Or we would have if you hadn't pushed me off."

"Because you yawned! I'm boring you. This is boring you." Andy gestured vehemently between their persons. "That's exactly the point."

"I didn't--" Miranda began heatedly, cut herself off, and took a deep, settling breath. Then she nodded toward the computer. "It also says that this... 'lesbian bed death' business is a myth. Or did you neglect to read that part during your extensive research?"

Andy was undeterred. "Yeah?" She slapped the laptop shut and crossed her arms chellengingly over her chest. "Alright. When was the last time we had really good sex? And don't you dare say just now."

Looking away in displeasure, Miranda sniffed haughtily and pursed her lips again. "I wouldn't dare to presume what you deem--"

"Miranda," Andy interrupted, barely holding her irritation in.

"Fine," she spat out. "Last Tuesday, when we came home from the dinner party."

Before she could help it, a snort escaped Andy's throat. "Miranda, you fingered me for, like, five minutes and went to sleep."

Miranda cringed at the crude choice of words, but nevertheless said, "You seemed to enjoy it. Or were you faking it?" She penetrated Andy with a piercing glare.

"I wasn't f-- god, I wasn't faking it." Sighing in frustration, Andy deflated, her shoulders slumping. "Don't you get what I'm trying to say?"

"I'm getting that you're apparently bored by our sex life," said Miranda, looking more sour by the second.

To her dismay, Andy exclaimed, "Yes!" instead of refuting her. "Aren't you?"

She watched as Miranda looked away again, visibly swallowing. Her lips pinched into near whiteness, her face scowling at nothing in particular. Finally, she relented, murmuring as reluctantly as if the admission was being beaten out of her, "I suppose it's... less exciting these days."

"Thank you," Andy exhaled, her point proven, the tension slowly seeping out of her muscles.

Miranda added, "It used to be better."

"Right?" She frowned, moving to join her side. "We were so good at it. What happened to us?"

After a brief pause, Miranda proposed, "We got lazy?"

"Do you think it was inevitable?" Andy asked, biting her lip in apprehension. "I mean, apparently it's a whole syndrom."

"I refuse to believe that," Miranda stated, but not with enough conviction to assuage Andy's worry. "We're not like other people."

"But... look. Case in point. We can't even remember the last time we really enjoyed ourselves. And that's when we actually bother to have sex. It didn't use to be like that."

A morose sort of silence fell over them, enveloping them in the grim realization that they'd become a statistic much against their will, and the fear that it wouldn't get much better from here on out. Was this what the future held for them? Lack of pleasure and excitement? Sex becoming a chore, a box to check off to prove to themselves that what they had was still working?

Andy broke through the quiet first with a half-hearted smile. "Remember that time we did it in my parents' bed?" she reminisced slyly and that was all it took to get a nostalgic, little chuckle out of Miranda, the images clearly returning to her in a heartbeat, the feelings of taboo excitement and mischief. "We didn't even change the sheets."

"You were insatiable," Miranda supplied.

"Me?" Andy pressed a hand to her chest in faux-offense. "Should I remind you whose idea it was?"

"You drove me to it," she snootily defended herself--as if a small part of her hadn't waited for that exact revenge on the people who'd taken so long to accept her--and Andy dropped the act, her smile wider and genuine.

"It was fun, though, wasn't it?" Miranda offered another fond chuckle in response. "Maybe that's what we need. To be adventurous again."

Trying to mask her interest, Miranda nonchalantly questioned, "What do you suggest?" and Andy's nose wrinkled in thought, her eyes traveling her surroundings and landing on the forgotten laptop.

"We could buy new toys?" she suggested, sounding uncertain.

Miranda shrugged. "Eh. Feels forced."

"Yeah..." she sighed in agreement, leaning her head back against the wooden headboard. "Watch porn?"

"Feels sad."

"We could google it, maybe. Find new ideas."

"I can't think of anything less desirable," Miranda said with a grunt as she swung her legs off the side of the bed, hoisting herself up.

Andy's confused gaze followed her to the door. "Where are you going?"

Stretching an arm behind her, Miranda closed and opened her hand in wordless invitation, adding, "Come with me." And, her smile back with a vengeance, Andy recognized the promise in her voice and all but leaped off the bed.

\---

"Someone might hear," Andy whispered, looking anxiously behind her at the closed door. The glass was frosted, but shapes and shadows could still be made out through it.

"It's Sunday," Miranda replied calmly.

Andy's breath was growing heavier. "There still might be people around. The way you work them--"

"You wanted adventure, didn't you?" said Miranda, and the wicked quirk of her lips was the last thing Andy saw before a hand pushed on her chest, her back coming to rest on the cool glass of Miranda's office desk.

\---

Miranda stared at the ceiling. Andy sighed. The sound of panting filled the room.

"I forgot how much fun sex actually is," Andy spoke up at long last from her position at the foot of the couch, her legs still numb, eyes scanning every surface--horizontal or otherwise--they'd debauched over the last few hours.

Above her, sweaty and spent on the couch cushions, Miranda lazily removed a damp forelock from her eyes and said, "I told you it was a myth."


End file.
